Contracted to the Cold-hearted Billionaire

Clarissa POV

“I don’t know how you stomach that pathetic excuse for a woman. She walks around like she matters. God, I’d die if I ever had to live like her.”

That voice. I didn’t need to guess. Sasha. The same voice I’d heard whispering through hotel phone lines. The same high-pitched laughter I’d heard echoing in my bathroom two weeks ago.

He seems to like this particular slut. She's been the only mistress he's repeated. The other women had always been a one time thing.

I pressed my back to the cold wall outside the bedroom door, holding my breath and listening to them.

“She’s nothing,” Nicho’s voice came through, “A walking corpse. No passion, no spark. Just a name on paper and a face I can barely stand. I told her to stop coming in here.”

I exhaled slowly. So this was today’s insult. A new version of the same truth I’d lived with for seven years. This marriage? A farce. A goddamn contract signed with ink, silence and utter disrespect.

Still, it stung. More than usual. I pushed open the bedroom door like I wasn’t even surprised and I wasn’t. The sight hit me like a movie I’d seen one too many times.

There they were. Nicho and Sasha, limbs tangled, bare skin on full display, like they were posing for an erotic magazine cover.

He didn’t even flinch when he saw me. He didn’t bother to reach for a sheet.

“You’re disgusting,” I said calmly, stepping fully into the room.

Sasha gave me a slow, smug smile. “Oh, look. The ghost speaks.”

I ignored her. My eyes stayed on Nicho. “Seven years, Nicho. Seven years of this circus.”

“You weren’t invited in here,” he said, eyes narrowing. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stay the hell out.”

Then he stood up. His hand moved so fast, I barely had time to flinch. He gave me a stinging sharp slap. I staggered back a little .

Sasha gasped but she was smiling. She enjoyed the show.

“Don’t ever walk into my room again,” he growled.

My cheek throbbed, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I straightened up, adjusted my shirt, and turned my back on both of them.

I walked down the stairs like I hadn’t just been slapped. Like I wasn’t dying a little on the inside. The bar in the corner of the living room called to me like it always did on nights like this.

I poured myself a glass of whatever was closest, whiskey, maybe? Didn’t care. Just needed the burn. I needed it to push down the anger bubbling in my throat.

I barely had one sip when my phone started buzzing on the counter.

I stared at it. Nicho’s name flashed on the screen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, swiping to answer.

“What?” I snapped.

“She’s hungry. Go make something for Sasha.”

I blinked. “You want me to cook for